


Game's End

by crossedlines



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossedlines/pseuds/crossedlines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr realizes that in binding Sansa to himself, he has bound himself to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game's End

**Author's Note:**

> POV Petyr, imagining the scene by the water we see glimpses of in the S5 trailer.

Smoke from torches just lit gusts roughly into Petyr’s eyes. The already grey afternoon was growing dark, evening coming fast across the water. He stands on the pier, boots catching on wood rain-soaked from a storm earlier in the day. The torches throw off heat in waves, distorting the air in front of him, but Petyr can still see his self-made sigil on the sails of his ship. He can’t help the prideful smile that crosses his face.

 Turning from the crew preparing for their voyage, he sees Alayne on the bank. She is poised, her dark hair in a single braid down her back as she stands firmly on the matted green grass. Meeting his eyes, she turns, walking down and around a slight slope along the cliffs; towards the water but out of earshot (and, Petyr hopes, view) of the Vale guardsmen and his crew. Smirking, he follows.

 “Hoping to give your uncle a parting gift?” he teases as he reaches her.

 “Petyr,” Sansa whispers wanly, and immediately he knows the ground has shifted. He drops the grinning mask of Littlefinger, then, and it is Petyr who speaks. “Sweetling... our parting is only temporary.”

 He watches as a hint of irony flickers across her face. She’s gotten better at controlling the roiling emotions underneath, but there’s an impatience to her lately that suggests she may be tiring of the game he makes her play.

 Petyr straightens, eyes narrowing. Since taking on the mantle of her protector, he had recognized the potential in her. Since becoming her mentor, he had begun to respect her. Since they had bound themselves to one another with dangerous acts and even more dangerous lies, he had come to realize he had to give her more. _But did I realize?_ He wonders to himself, O _r did it simply happen, without a thought, without my conscious decision?_ Months had passed since she saved his life in the Eyrie, and in that time she had become his right hand without a word between them. As they tangled deeper into one another, he had let her see the methods to his machinations; opening himself to her, relying on her, trusting her as a fellow player and not merely a pawn... No, he had not decided to give her any of this. She had earned it and he could not have stopped her.

 Sansa breaks his gaze, looking out over the water, aloof again. Petyr realizes that she does not share in his revelations, and a part of him, a very old part, aches.

 Removing his gloves, he moves towards her slowly. _Don’t fool yourself_ , he thinks, _these are still early days. She is still a little bird._ _She can still see a cage._

 Gently, he touches her shoulder, clad in a cloak very similar to his own. He thinks back to the day that cloak was made. He remembers initially being irritated that the fabric was not identical to his own covering, but delighted when Sansa raised a smirking eyebrow as she allowed him to place it on her shoulders. In that moment she thought she had caught him. _Maybe_ , Petyr thinks, _she has_.

 “What you’ve asked...” Sansa begins. “I’m not sure I...” She turns her face back to his. Her breath hitches as she tries to release the tension in her chest.

 The wind picks up Petyr’s cloak, exposing the gold interior. With one steadying hand on her shoulder, he takes her face gently in his palm, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

 He holds her gaze. “There is no justice in this world. Not unless we make it.” _We_. _You and I. We are bound in this now. Do you understand that yet?_

 Sansa stares at him, eyes wide and beginning to rim with tears, and Petyr sees it all. He sees her grief, her anger, her fear. He sees her dreams broken on the wheel, he sees her scars, he sees who she has been and who she will become.

 “I trust you to do this. Not for me, not for the North, but for yourself. _Avenge them._ ” The words astonish him as much as they do her. He had intended to speak kindly but strongly, to assure her she is ready, that his training has prepared her. That she is a brave and clever girl and can make him proud if she just follows his instructions. Instead, something else had come out. _Not for me, not for the North_. He has no manipulations left for Sansa Stark.

 She swallows hard, and nods, never breaking his gaze. He sees her determination. He sees her trust.

 It is Sansa who initiates the kiss.


End file.
